Valley of Silence
Page 8
“You’ll need to show yourself,” Riddock told her. “From the royal terrace. It’s expected.”
“Aye. But not alone. I know it’s the way it’s been done,” she continued before her uncle could object. “But these are different times. My circle will stand with me.” She looked at Glenna now, then Hoyt and Blair. “The people won’t just see their queen, but those who have been chosen to lead this war.”
“It’s for you to say, you to do,” Riddick said with a slight bow. “But on such a day, Geall should be free of the shadow of war.”
“Until Samhain has passed, Geall remains always in the shadow of war. Every Geallian must know that until that day, I rule with a sword. And that I’m part of six the gods have chosen.”
She laid a hand on his as they passed through the gates. “We will have feasting and celebration. I value your advice, as always, and I will show myself, and I will speak. But on this day, the gods have chosen both queen and warrior in me. And this is what I will be. This is what I’ll give to Geall, to my last breath. I won’t shame you.”
He took her hand from his arm, brought it to his lips. “My sweet girl. You have and always will bring me nothing but pride. And from this day, to my last breath, I am the queen’s man.”
The servants were gathered, and knelt when the royal party entered the castle. She knew their names, their faces. Some of them had served her mother before Moira herself was born.
But it was no longer the same. She wasn’t the daughter of the house now, but its mistress. And theirs.
“Rise,” she said, “and know I am grateful for your loyalty and service. Know, too, that you and all of Geall have my loyalty and service as long as I am queen.”
Later, she told herself as she started up the stairs, she would speak with each of them individually. It was important to do so. But for now, there were other duties.
In the family parlor the fire roared. Flowers cut fresh from garden and hothouse spilled from vases and bowls. The table was set with the finest silver and crystal, with wine waiting for Moira’s inner circle to toast the new queen.
She took a breath, then two, trying to find the words she would say, her first, to those she loved best.
Then Glenna simply wrapped arms around her. “You were magnificent.” She kissed both Moira’s cheeks. “Luminous.”
The tension she’d held tight in her shoulders eased. “I feel the same, but not. Do you know?”
“I can only imagine.”
“Nice job.” Blair stepped up, gave her a quick hug. “Can I see it?”
Warrior to warrior, Moira thought and offered Blair the sword.
“Excellent,” Blair said softly. “Good weight for you. You expect it to be crusted with jewels or whatever. It’s good that it’s not. It’s good and right that it’s a fighting sword, not just a symbol.”
“It felt as though the hilt was made for my hand. As soon as I touched it, it felt... mine.”
“It is.” Blair handed it back. “It’s yours.”
For the moment, Moira set the sword on the table to accept Hoyt’s embrace. “The power in you is warm and steady,” he said close to her ear. “Geall is fortunate in its queen.”
“Thank you.” Then she let out a laugh as Larkin swept her off her feet and in three dizzying circles.
“Look at you. Majesty.”
“You mock my dignity.”
“Always. But never you, a stór.”
When Larkin set her back on her feet, she turned to Cian. “Thank you for coming. It meant a great deal to me.”
He neither embraced nor touched her, but only inclined his head. “It was a moment not to be missed.”
“A moment more important to me that you would come. All of you,” she continued and started to turn when her young cousin tugged on her skirts. “Aideen.” She lifted the child, accepted the damp kiss. “And don’t you look pretty today.”
“Pretty,” Aideen repeated, reaching up to touch Moira’s jeweled crown. Then she turned her head with a smile both shy and sly for Cian. “Pretty,” she said again.
“An astute female,” Cian observed. He saw the little girl’s gaze drop to the pendant he wore, and in an absent gesture lifted it so that she could touch.
Even as Aideen reached out, her mother all but flew across the room. “Aideen, don’t!”
Sinann pulled the girl from Moira, gripped her tight against her belly, burgeoning with her third child.
In the shocked silence, Moira could do no more than breathe her cousin’s name.
“I never had a taste for children,” Cian said coolly. “You’ll excuse me.”
“Cian.” With one damning look toward Sinann, Moira hurried after him. “Please, a moment.”
“I’ve had enough moments for the morning. I want my bed.”
“I would apologize.” She took his arm, holding firm until he stopped and turned. His eyes were hard; blue stone. “My cousin Sinann, she’s a simple woman. I’ll speak with her.”
“Don’t trouble on my account.”
“Sir.” Pale as wax, Sinann walked toward them. “I beg your pardon, most sincerely. I have insulted you, and my queen, her honored guests. I ask your forgiveness for a mother’s foolishness.”
She regretted the insult, Cian thought, but not the act. The child was on the far side of the room now, in her father’s arms. “Accepted.” He dismissed her with barely a glance. “Now if you’ll release my arm. Majesty.”
“A favor,” Moira began.
“You’re racking them up.”
“And I’m in your debt,” she said evenly. “I need to go out, onto the terrace. The people need to see their queen, and, I feel, those who are her circle. If you’d give me a few minutes more of your time I’d be grateful.”
“In the buggering sun.”
She managed a smile, and relaxed as she recognized the frustration in his tone meant he’d do as she asked. “A few moments. Then you can go find some solitude with the satisfaction of knowing I’ll be envying you for it.”
“Then make it quick. I’d enjoy some solitude and satisfaction.”
M oira arranged it deliberately, with Larkin on one side of her—a figure Geall loved and respected—and Cian on the other. The stranger some of them feared. Having them flank her would, she hoped, show her people she considered them equals, and that both had her trust.
“Aye. But not alone. I know it’s the way it’s been done,” she continued before her uncle could object. “But these are different times. My circle will stand with me.” She looked at Glenna now, then Hoyt and Blair. “The people won’t just see their queen, but those who have been chosen to lead this war.”
“It’s for you to say, you to do,” Riddick said with a slight bow. “But on such a day, Geall should be free of the shadow of war.”
“Until Samhain has passed, Geall remains always in the shadow of war. Every Geallian must know that until that day, I rule with a sword. And that I’m part of six the gods have chosen.”
She laid a hand on his as they passed through the gates. “We will have feasting and celebration. I value your advice, as always, and I will show myself, and I will speak. But on this day, the gods have chosen both queen and warrior in me. And this is what I will be. This is what I’ll give to Geall, to my last breath. I won’t shame you.”
He took her hand from his arm, brought it to his lips. “My sweet girl. You have and always will bring me nothing but pride. And from this day, to my last breath, I am the queen’s man.”
The servants were gathered, and knelt when the royal party entered the castle. She knew their names, their faces. Some of them had served her mother before Moira herself was born.
But it was no longer the same. She wasn’t the daughter of the house now, but its mistress. And theirs.
“Rise,” she said, “and know I am grateful for your loyalty and service. Know, too, that you and all of Geall have my loyalty and service as long as I am queen.”
Later, she told herself as she started up the stairs, she would speak with each of them individually. It was important to do so. But for now, there were other duties.
In the family parlor the fire roared. Flowers cut fresh from garden and hothouse spilled from vases and bowls. The table was set with the finest silver and crystal, with wine waiting for Moira’s inner circle to toast the new queen.
She took a breath, then two, trying to find the words she would say, her first, to those she loved best.
Then Glenna simply wrapped arms around her. “You were magnificent.” She kissed both Moira’s cheeks. “Luminous.”
The tension she’d held tight in her shoulders eased. “I feel the same, but not. Do you know?”
“I can only imagine.”
“Nice job.” Blair stepped up, gave her a quick hug. “Can I see it?”
Warrior to warrior, Moira thought and offered Blair the sword.
“Excellent,” Blair said softly. “Good weight for you. You expect it to be crusted with jewels or whatever. It’s good that it’s not. It’s good and right that it’s a fighting sword, not just a symbol.”
“It felt as though the hilt was made for my hand. As soon as I touched it, it felt... mine.”
“It is.” Blair handed it back. “It’s yours.”
For the moment, Moira set the sword on the table to accept Hoyt’s embrace. “The power in you is warm and steady,” he said close to her ear. “Geall is fortunate in its queen.”
“Thank you.” Then she let out a laugh as Larkin swept her off her feet and in three dizzying circles.
“Look at you. Majesty.”
“You mock my dignity.”
“Always. But never you, a stór.”
When Larkin set her back on her feet, she turned to Cian. “Thank you for coming. It meant a great deal to me.”
He neither embraced nor touched her, but only inclined his head. “It was a moment not to be missed.”
“A moment more important to me that you would come. All of you,” she continued and started to turn when her young cousin tugged on her skirts. “Aideen.” She lifted the child, accepted the damp kiss. “And don’t you look pretty today.”
“Pretty,” Aideen repeated, reaching up to touch Moira’s jeweled crown. Then she turned her head with a smile both shy and sly for Cian. “Pretty,” she said again.
“An astute female,” Cian observed. He saw the little girl’s gaze drop to the pendant he wore, and in an absent gesture lifted it so that she could touch.
Even as Aideen reached out, her mother all but flew across the room. “Aideen, don’t!”
Sinann pulled the girl from Moira, gripped her tight against her belly, burgeoning with her third child.
In the shocked silence, Moira could do no more than breathe her cousin’s name.
“I never had a taste for children,” Cian said coolly. “You’ll excuse me.”
“Cian.” With one damning look toward Sinann, Moira hurried after him. “Please, a moment.”
“I’ve had enough moments for the morning. I want my bed.”
“I would apologize.” She took his arm, holding firm until he stopped and turned. His eyes were hard; blue stone. “My cousin Sinann, she’s a simple woman. I’ll speak with her.”
“Don’t trouble on my account.”
“Sir.” Pale as wax, Sinann walked toward them. “I beg your pardon, most sincerely. I have insulted you, and my queen, her honored guests. I ask your forgiveness for a mother’s foolishness.”
She regretted the insult, Cian thought, but not the act. The child was on the far side of the room now, in her father’s arms. “Accepted.” He dismissed her with barely a glance. “Now if you’ll release my arm. Majesty.”
“A favor,” Moira began.
“You’re racking them up.”
“And I’m in your debt,” she said evenly. “I need to go out, onto the terrace. The people need to see their queen, and, I feel, those who are her circle. If you’d give me a few minutes more of your time I’d be grateful.”
“In the buggering sun.”
She managed a smile, and relaxed as she recognized the frustration in his tone meant he’d do as she asked. “A few moments. Then you can go find some solitude with the satisfaction of knowing I’ll be envying you for it.”
“Then make it quick. I’d enjoy some solitude and satisfaction.”
M oira arranged it deliberately, with Larkin on one side of her—a figure Geall loved and respected—and Cian on the other. The stranger some of them feared. Having them flank her would, she hoped, show her people she considered them equals, and that both had her trust.
